"But what if we should run into a large force of enemies on the road. I would hate for Elspeth to be present during a battle or skirmish."
Cyrus's stomach ached as he imagined that situation. "Aye, 'tis a hellish risk."
"I wish we knew who these bastards were and their intent."
"Aye." Well, Cyrus and Elspeth had a pretty solid idea of who was causing the trouble. He needed to inform Fraser, but felt he would be betraying Elspeth's trust if he did. He would have to tell her that Fraser deserved to know the identity of the suspected enemy. "I'll go in and talk to Elspeth about my decision and the risks of travel. Come in and get me if the whoresons show up again."
"Aye."
Cyrus went inside and upstairs. With each step, the anticipation of seeing Elspeth again spiked his heart rate. Their stunning kiss of a short while ago burned through his memory. 'Twas delicious and astonishing. What had she thought about it? Of course, they both knew it shouldn't have happened, but it had. And he couldn't forget about it so easily. He wanted to regret it, but if he were truly honest with himself, he held no remorse. Would she pretend it hadn't happened?
Seeing no servants about, he lightly tapped a knuckle against the oak door of Elspeth's bedchamber. He hoped she wasn't yet sleeping. 'Haps she would find it objectionable that he was here, intruding on her privacy, but he had to discuss his decision with her, especially since it might put her at risk.
"Who is it?" From inside the room, her voice sounded muffled behind the thick wood.
"Cyrus."
The door opened slowly and, holding a single white candle, Elspeth stood in the foot-wide crack with her unbound hair loose upon her shoulders.
He drank in the lovely sight of her honey-cream skin. "I hope you weren't asleep."
"Nay."
Her lips were the color of rose petals, and her eyes gleamed like Scotch in the firelight. His fingers itched to comb through her thick, flame-red curls. Were they as soft and silky as they appeared, or would they scorch his fingers? He almost chuckled in derision at his own daft and fanciful thoughts. He was certainly no bard.
He glanced down at her clothing. The belt of her velvety, wine-colored wrap was tied at her slender waist. The inviting lacings of her white smock showed at the upper part of her chest.
He forced his attention further downward to the bandage peeping out from her sleeve. "How is your arm?"
"'Tis fine. I have no pain." Her eyes held a guarded awareness that played havoc with his peace of mind.
"Good." He glanced away, toward the door frame, so he could think more clearly. "I regret that I didn't bring enough men to hunt down these knaves while protecting you at the same time. This manor house is not fortified as a castle would be. So, I've decided that, in the morn, I'm taking you back to Castle Rebbinglen."
Elspeth gasped. "Nay, I cannot go back there."
Irked that she would nay-say him, he glowered at her. "Why? Don't you wish to be safe?"
"Of course, but I don't want to put the Earl of Rebbinglen, his wife, his children, or any of their guests in danger. The culprit could follow us there. I don't know how many men are in his guard. Besides, if it is Henry, how would we explain his motives to the marquess? I don't wish everyone to know I was the former Earl of Dalacroy's mistress."
She made two good points. And he couldn't argue with them. Surely, if he could defeat whole clans with the help of a few dozen men, he could protect one woman himself. But he would have to send more of the men to Rebbinglen to garner reinforcements. Likely, Dalacroy the younger would not give up without a fight.
Cyrus nodded. "I'll send Fraser and two guards for the MacKenzie clansmen who traveled with me to Rebbinglen. There are over two dozen in total. I didn't yet tell Fraser about your association with the senior Dalacroy, but I need to. He deserves to have all the facts about who we're fighting."
Her cheeks darkened. "If you must. I simply didn't wish everyone at Rebbinglen to know of it. If my reputation is damaged among the aristocracy, it could be detrimental to my dressmaking business."
Cyrus could understand that. "I'll tell him not to say anything. He's trustworthy."
Her worried gaze softened upon him. "I appreciate that."
"We could simply say you purchased Darby Hall from Dalacroy and now his son wants it back."
"Mayhap, but I don't like to create fabrications. There are many rumors about me. 'Tis simply that no one can prove them."
Cyrus wondered why he was so intent on protecting the former mistress of a peer—both her reputation and her person. What was it about her that caused him to care? Of course, he always protected women and tried to keep them as safe as possible. But why should he care if everyone knew of her past? Mayhap because she seemed the opposite of a loose woman, or because she hadn't agreed to the arrangement for pleasure, but for survival. A roguish part of him wondered if she had ever experienced any sexual pleasure. What the hell business did he have thinking about that?
None.
"Don't feel you have to stay. I wouldn't want you—a chief and earl—to put your life in danger because of me. You're an important man who shouldn't take such risks."
